


when you want something

by SailorChibi



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), SPECTRE (2015), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Blowjobs, Bottom Q, Emotional Hurt, Fingering, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Q is trying to repress his feelings, Spectre - Freeform, Top Bond, based on the new spectre trailer, handjobs, hints of an established relationship, i don't know how the feelings snuck in there, it's not working very well, no spoilers unless you haven't seen the trailer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-12
Updated: 2015-08-12
Packaged: 2018-04-14 09:00:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4558650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SailorChibi/pseuds/SailorChibi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The minions around them gradually return to work, not seeing anything interesting in the by now familiar sight of their quartermaster and a 00, and only then does Bond speak. "Do one more thing for me?"</p><p>Q's stomach flips with anticipation at his tone, the way it always does. "What did you have in mind?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	when you want something

**Author's Note:**

> Pretty much the only reason I like the Bond movies is for Bond/Q and the fics. I promised myself I wouldn't _write_ any, and I was good - SO good, you guys - until the new trailer was released. Those two lines, man. I swear, I just can't help myself.

He sees it in the way that Bond's hands run gently over the car, stroking the boot before trailing lightly up the glass. But his eyes are on Q, and it doesn't take a genius to ascertain the meaning: what, or rather _who_ , he really wants to be touching. Q pretends not to understand, maintaining his composure, and continues rattling off information like they're not in the midst of a crisis. Then again, working for MI6 has long since taught him that there's almost always a crisis. It's just not usually this bad.

Bond behaves in the moment because they're not alone, but as soon as Q sits down Bond is right there beside him. The agent leans casually against the table separating them, idly playing with one of his gadgets. Taking his life into his hands as always, because said gadget could easily explode at any second and take the 00-agent with it. Something which Q explained not ten minutes prior. He's not entirely certain whether Bond listened to every word and promptly discarded it, or just ignored him. With Bond, it's sometimes impossible to tell.

The minions around them gradually return to work, not seeing anything interesting in the by now familiar sight of their quartermaster and a 00, and only then does Bond speak. "Do one more thing for me?"

Q's stomach flips with anticipation at his tone, the way it always does. "What did you have in mind?"

"Make me disappear," Bond says quietly, setting the gadget back on the desk. His hand lingers, an invitation that Q finds himself accepting before he's fully processed it. His body moves of its own accord, rising, and Bond falls into step behind him. No one looks up as they make their way out of R&D, heading back into the depths of Q-branch. This time of the night, there's few people around to see them step into Q's office together.

"What did you really have in mind?" Q asks, automatically engaging the soundproofing and electronic scrambling that will prevent anyone from being able to listen in on them. It's not often that they indulge in MI6, considering that this - whatever _this_ is - is supposed to be kept secret for the well being of both their employment. But every once in a while, Bond will come in strung out and hollow-eyed, and a good fuck is the only thing that puts him back together. 

It's not like that now, when Bond's hands settle gently on his hips. His hands are large, fingers sliding down the V of Q's groin, framing his cock. Bond's forehead rests against the back of his neck, lips brushing Q's suit jacket when he says, "I really do need to disappear. Your genius mind is the only thing that can make it happen."

Q scoffs, rolling his eyes. "You only call me a genius when you want something," he says, but the complaint is half-hearted at best: he'll do whatever Bond needs, and they both know it.

"Shall I make it up to you?" There's a hint of a smile in his voice, hands sliding up slowly to unfasten Q's trousers and slide them open. Bond is too practiced at this; within the span of seconds, he's got Q half-naked, pants and trousers around his ankles, and Q's cock in his hand. Q shivers, catching a soft sound before it can escape his throat, letting his eyes slip shut for a fraction of a moment. He loves Bond's hands, so practiced and skilful, but never more so than when he's touching either a gun or Q. 

He turns, setting his own hands on Bond's shoulders, looking into Bond's familiar face. They stare at each other silently for an undetermined span of time before Bond moves, slamming Q back against the wall as he lowers his mouth for a filthy kiss. This is more familiar territory and Q gives as good as he gets, opening himself up to the kiss when a hot tongue sweeps across his bottom lip. Bond is an amazing kisser, and after the first time he knew exactly how best to kiss Q, but now he's become a master: a nip of teeth here, easing up on the pressure there, and Q makes an embarrassingly wanting sound into the kiss.

He feels Bond smile, mouth curving up as they gentle the kiss into something less frenzied, and his hands return to Q's hips. He rubs gently, sliding his palms up under fabric to Q's ribs and back down again, just the way he'd stroked the car earlier. Q shivers at the sensation, skin prickling with the dichotomy between Bond's warm hands and the cooler air in the office, and feels himself harden against Bond's thigh. A clothed thigh, mind you, and he reaches down to start divesting Bond of his trousers.

Bond helps, unbuckling his belt and shoving his trousers down. He's bare underneath, his hard cock brushing against Q's fingers, and he slides a thumb across the damp slit. A soft growl is his reward, and he levers a smirk at Bond before sliding to his knees. This is something he knows how to do: though he may not be a master at it, but he is practiced at teasing Bond past his limits, and he starts with a series of soft, sweet licks around the head, just a little flicker of wet tongue that's gone again before Bond can thrust into it. The taste is musky and familiar, and in spite of himself - in spite of his promise to keep this strictly about sex - he tries to imprint the taste on his senses. He doesn't know when, or if, he'll taste it again.

A soft curse rents the air and Q smiles, parting his lips to take the cockhead into his mouth at last. Fingers slide through his hair as he does, and he opens his eyes to peer up at Bond. Blazing blue eyes staring down at him, looking all the more wild considering how flushed his face is. A flicker of satisfaction rushes through Q, and he can't resist bringing his free hand to his own cock. He loves the way he can wreck Bond so easily, with nothing more than a few coy looks from under his eyelashes and his lips wrapped around the man's dick. He's listened to the audio from mission before; he knows no one else gets to Bond like this. 

This is Q, and Q alone.

Keeping his eyes locked on Bond's face, he lets a little more skin slide into his mouth. Bond appreciates a hint of teeth and Q uses that to his advantage, building everything up to be soft and wet and then adding in a little sting. It makes Bond jerk against him every time, and, as the sound of another muttered curse hits Q's ears, he's being unceremoniously hauled to his feet, stripped of his vest, shirt, tie and jacket and then pushed across his desk. He laughs through the surprise of it all, willingly spreading his thighs when he feels Bond crowd up close behind him. 

"I suppose you've got to be going soon," he observes, closing his eyes against the press of a finger to his hole. It's wet and cold - Bond always seems to carry lube - and slides in easily, like Q's body recognizes the touch and eagerly welcomes Bond now. 

"Sooner than I'd like," Bond admits, his free hand stroking the dip of Q's spine and sending chills up his back. He shivers and arches back, and Bond slides a second finger in. It burns a little this time, but nothing he can't handle. Nothing he doesn't want. He sighs in appreciation, moaning when Bond's fingers crook just right and slide across his prostate. 

Q relaxes into it, the familiar surge of pleasure, and casts a quick glance over his shoulder. He can tell that Bond isn't pleased about going, not that Q can blame him: there's a difference between an MI6 sanctioned mission, no matter how long it might take, and something like this. Even if Bond is successful, from this day forth there could very well be an MI6 issued kill order out against him. He may never be able to come back.

Bond meets his gaze and his mouth quirks into another faint smile; he pulls his fingers out and pushes three in, punching a gasp from Q's throat. He can tell that Bond wants to play. It's happened a handful of times before, stolen nights in Q's flat when the agent crawled in through his window and pinned him to the bed. Long hours spent at Bond's mercy, both of them pushed far beyond the limit, and all Q was left with are bruises in the morning and - if Bond was feeling particularly mischievous - feeling loose and persistently damp all day from how often and how long he'd been fucked.

But they don't have time for that kind of luxury.

"Then go ahead," Q says at last, turning his head away, ducking it, so that he knows Bond is looking at the long line of his back and neck. "I'm good."

It's still a bit of a thrill to know that Bond trusts his judgment, even though that's already been proven ten times over. The fingers immediately disappear and Q aches with emptiness for only a few seconds before something much more substantial starts to replace them. He breathes through the initial push, biting his lip hard as Bond's cock slips slowly inside, a slow, relentless pressure until Bond is bollocks deep. 

Instead of fucking him, though, Bond bends down. His mouth brushes against the curve of Q's shoulder in what might be a kiss. "Q..."

A hot feeling swells in Q's throat, rendering him momentarily speechless. There's so much _affection_ in Bond's voice. Raw and undisguised, it slams home in a way that he's not expecting. It figures that Bond would choose to be dramatic now, and Q's caught off guard by the reciprocating surge of warmth in his own chest. Bloody hell, when did that happen?

"James."

It's not until he hears Bond's startled inhale that Q realizes exactly what he said. What he might as well have admitted to. He bites his lip again, tightening his hands into fists, and purposely clenches down to remind Bond of what exactly they're doing. Bond inhales again and it comes out this time as a groan of pleasure. 

He seems to get the message, straightening back up and pulling out until just the tip of his cock is left inside of Q, then slamming back in. It's a good thing that the desk is bolted to the ground because Bond sets a furious, punishing pace, as though to make up for that brief moment of - whatever that was. Q swallows back the sounds that want to pour of him and rocks backwards into it until he can't hold it back anymore, and the sound of his quiet moans fill the office.

When Bond leans over him again, it's to take hold of Q's cock and start those long, firm strokes that never fail to make Q come whether he wants to or not. Q clenches down again, whimpering, and hears Bond grunt in his ear. Bond's free hand tightens on his hip to the point where it will likely leave a bruise, and the brief flash of pain is all that Q needs. He manages to keep from crying out by sinking his teeth into his forearm, muffling the sound of Bond's name as he comes.

Bond groans then, his tongue darting out to taste the sweat that's collected at the base of Q's neck, and starts fucking him even harder. It hurts, but in a good way, and Q musters up the strength to arch into it. 

"Come on, I want it," he says roughly. And then, when that still isn't enough, " _James_."

"Fuck, Q," Bond whispers, rhythm shuddering to a stop as he comes, his mouth opening in a low, hot wash of breath across the back of Q's neck that makes Q shiver. Bond collapses on top of him and Q grunts at the weight, though not to complain: he's discovered he rather likes it when Bond's lying on him, even if he tells himself it's only because then he knows exactly where the bloody agent is.

He turns his head and, though the angle is awkward, finds Bond's mouth for a lazy kiss that goes on for longer than he'd intended. But stopping it means that Bond is going to leave, to disappear, and it will be Q who puts out that path for him. Q, who will bear the brunt of MI6's frustration when they find that Bond's gone. Q, who will still be here if Bond never comes back. 

"My job will be significantly more boring without annoying 00-agents who don't return my equipment," he says against Bond's mouth.

Bond laughs a little, breaking the kiss. "We can't have that," he says with a fond smile, taking a step back. Q grimaces at the feel of the come now seeping down his thighs as he straightens up, but that's wiped from his mind when Bond ducks in again for another kiss. Much slower this time, not lazy but gentle, their lips moving together in a way that has somehow become familiar when Q wasn't looking.

Q's the one who pulls back this time. He can't let himself have this, not right now, and, not for the first time, they're on the same page. Bond just flashes him a bland smile, mask already back in place, and sets about putting himself back to rights. His trousers are back on, shirt smoothed, tie fixed, by the time that Q has located and pulled on his pants. 

"Let me know when you have everything set," Bond says, lingering by the door.

"I will," Q says, hastily pulling on his trousers before he disengages the security measures. There's a lot he wants to say, but there's no point and they both know it. So he just sits down in his office chair, the rest of his clothing scattered somewhere about his office, and watches as Bond disappears.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my [tumblr](http://tsuki-chibi.tumblr.com/).


End file.
